


Hell or High Water

by Meowmeowandotherhappythings



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-04-25
Packaged: 2020-02-04 08:38:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18600967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meowmeowandotherhappythings/pseuds/Meowmeowandotherhappythings
Summary: What if Ava's purgatory was marginally worse than a fake IKEA?





	Hell or High Water

**Author's Note:**

> TW: mentions of sexual assault/harassment, mentions of suicide (nothing graphic, but yeah)
> 
> Okay, so, this is the first time I've written prose in literally four years, so good luck.  
> It's not super fun - there is ANGST.  
> Also I'm British, don't know if that will be obvious or make a difference but, sorry if it is or does  
> Enjoy...?

Ava opened her eyes. 

Synthetic lightbulbs immediately assaulted her and she squinted, feeling herself recoiling slightly, blinking against the glare. Her eyes adjusted quickly, bringing her surroundings into sharp focus. Ava stood, frozen in place. She was alone in an unfamiliar room, and it was quiet. Time seemed slow, her body and mind sluggish from the recent sleep, and she tried to remember where she was, how she had arrived there. In the stillness, the air was static and Ava watched dust particles float through the yellow halos of light around a line of mirrors in front of her. Almost without meaning to, she turned once, in place, taking stock of her situation – six mirrors lining one wall, the harsh lights, the dirty linoleum floor, six lockers lining the wall behind her, one door to her left, a clock. Completing her rotation, Ava stilled again. Blinked slowly. It was as her eyelids closed that she found herself assailed by memories, suddenly as clear as day, as though she was reliving the events; she was in her apartment, cleaning; she heard the door open; she watched as a man she didn’t know stepped towards her; she was thrown against the wall, the floor, the mirror; a hand at her neck; a fiery pain in her sternum; darkness. 

Ava opened her eyes. 

She was still in the dressing room, but it wasn’t so quiet anymore. As she stood, she could hear the sound of heeled footsteps approaching from a corridor outside, growing louder as they drew closer to her. The handle turned and the door opened. All at once, time sped up, returning to a normal pace – a group of six women entered the dressing room, sparing Ava only a glance before scattering, each to one mirror. None of them spoke, only leant forward, inspecting themselves in the smudged glass, pulling at their skin, wiping off and reapplying mascara, blusher, lipstick. Each of them wore the same sequined dress in a different colour – skin-tight, short at the leg and low at the neck. Ava looked at their reflections in the mirrors. All of them were identical. Before she could do anything, say anything, the AVAs straightened almost simultaneously, turning and moving in tandem, away from the mirrors, back towards Ava and past her, to the lockers behind her. Ava turned to watch. A bell rang, shattering the quiet that still pervaded the dressing room, even as it was filled with bodies. Each AVA stood before a separate locker as the doors opened, as if on a timer. 

In horror, Ava watched as, into the room, stepped five more AVAs, one from each tall, metal box – all except the one on the far right, which appeared to be empty. The new AVAs stood in place for a second, blinked as Ava had done just minutes ago, and moved in silence to the mirrors opposite. In turn, the first group of AVAs took their places in front of the now open and vacant lockers, turned on their heels, and stepped backwards into them. The bell rang again. The AVAs in the lockers closed their eyes and the metal doors clanged shut. 

Internally, Ava was in shock. Horrified. Completely devasted by what she saw. She begged her body to move, to obey her, to turn and run and never look back. Instead she turned away, and joined the AVAs at the mirrors, as they checked their faces for imperfections. Ava stared into the glass, examining her own reflection. She tried to scream, but nothing happened. Her hand moved to pull her hair so it rested over one shoulder, then went to the lipstick on the table before her. Ava watched as her reflection lent close to the glass, felt as her lips were coated with the cloying red paste and smacked together. Ava felt herself straighten up. Around her, the AVAs were also leaving their stations, turning almost as one towards the door and she felt herself do the same, powerless to stop her body as she was moved, step by step, out of the relative safety of the dressing room, and into an equally synthetic corridor. As Ava’s body was transported, against her will, towards a narrow flight of stairs, her mind was in overdrive – screaming, yelling, desperate for some control yet finding none. Ava didn’t know what was happening, where she was or even, really, how she had gotten there, but her body seemed to know what her mind did not, and, judging by what she had seen so far, as the group of AVAs filed one by one up the narrow flight of stairs, Ava had a sinking suspicion of what was to come. 

Never in her life had Ava wished so desperately to be proven wrong as she did on that agonising walk from the dressing room. Unfortunately, and maybe inevitably, this was not one of the rare times that her exceptional deductive skills failed her. The main room of the club was dimly lit, the music was loud, and the floor was sticky. A raised platform functioned as a stage, where the poles were also sticky, and the lights were harsh. The stage contained two poles on which two AVAs danced each evening, while the other four made the rounds, smiling sickeningly at the clientele as they delivered drinks from the bar, massaging shoulders and egos as they went.  
***

Over time, Ava learned the routines, the automatic movements and facial expressions, the false smiles and falser words that her body produced without input from her mind. Each ‘shift’ lasted six hours, at the end of which, the group of AVAs changed, one lot stowing themselves back in the lockers, as the other six took over on the floor. For the first two days, Ava was in constant turmoil, railing against the actions being done for her, panicking, thrashing, desperate for some way to become anything more than a passenger in her own body. Despite round-the-clock nausea, Ava couldn’t even make herself vomit – the vessel that carried her remaining calm and contained throughout. 

After two days, Ava was exhausted. No-one was coming for her. She didn’t even know where she was, there was no way anyone else would, and even if someone did come looking, there would be no way to differentiate her from the other AVAs; it was hopeless. After those first 48 hours, Ava gave up fighting, at least, while she was on the floor – allowing herself to engage with the body that contained her during those six hours was too much, too awful to bear. Instead, during those hours that she found herself stripping for a crowd, found herself being ordered about and pawed at, she retreated back into her memories, both real and fake. Mostly, she thought of her time with Sara, all their fights, all their jokes – she examined every moment they had spent together, until she was sure she knew each interaction by heart. When she ran out of happy memories, she analysed the bad ones, even the worst of which was a comfort to her now. She relived it all, every kiss, every smile, every cutting word, over and over again. In those hours, she treasured every heartbreak. 

Eventually, they would complete their six hours. Like clockwork (like machinery), they would return to the dressing room, check themselves over, and step into the confines of the locker, replacing one hell for another. In the darkness, Ava allowed herself to return to her body. She didn’t sleep. Instead, she occupied those silent hours trying to move. She began with her fingertips, trying in vain to push her consciousness into them, to inhabit them, to twitch even the smallest muscle. She tried her toes, her eyelids, her tongue, never succeeding. At some point, she found herself focusing on her organs, the involuntary beating of her heart, and realised she was willing it to stop. This too was fruitless, and yet, as she stood motionless and despairing in the dark, she felt a wetness on her cheeks, and realised she was crying.  
***

Ava had been there for one full week on the day it happened. 

She was three hours deep in an evening that was proving to be even worse than usual. For some reason, she seemed unable to check-out, fully and painfully aware of every torturous second, every hand that gripped her, pulled her, stroked her. Technically, the ‘patrons’ weren’t allowed to touch the merchandise – the purpose of the club was twofold: it provided a cheaper alternative for those unwilling or unable, to purchase a personal, bespoke Sexy AVA, and it functioned as an advertisement for said products – if patrons of the club could get all they wanted, cheap, from the standard public-access AVAs, there would be no reason for them to shell-out for the better model. Despite this savvy business model, most customers were not afraid to try their luck, and the manager, the only non-AVA employee (the only employee, full stop), wasn’t inclined to step in unless things got particularly out of hand – he couldn’t turn a profit if he was constantly having to buy new AVAs to replace broken and damaged ones. So, Ava was subjected to the constant threat of wandering hands, heavy and hot and damp on her skin, unable to do anything other than imagine the satisfaction of snapping wrists and breaking arms as she soldiered unwillingly on, feeling the stretch of her sickly, involuntary smile, almost stitched to her face. 

Ava had been there for one full week. She turned, slipping gracefully away from one especially sweaty man, his hand falling out from under her dress as she moved out of reach, and saw the door open, letting in a group of new clients. It was only a glance, a split-second as her eyes swept over the new group, but in that moment, time halted. 

Sara. There was Sara, standing in the entrance, blue eyes searching the room, looking for something (someone). Sara, who’s eyes looked straight into hers, from opposite ends of the crowded room. Sara, who took a stride further into the room, coming in Ava’s direction. 

Time restarted as Ava was carried away, back to the bar to collect a round of drinks. The desperation was back, full force. Her heart should have been pounding, her palms sweating. She should have been running straight at Sara, grabbing her, clinging to her, begging her to take Ava away from here, pleading with her to take Ava home. 

Ava stood at the bar, waiting for the tray of drinks she was to deliver. The patrons seated nearby smirked at her, leering, even as the other AVAs weaved between them. Ava felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned, the standard smirk pasted to her lips, and suddenly she was drowning, looking right at Sara. All at once, salvation didn’t seem so impossible. 

She felt herself open her mouth to speak and, knowing what she would say, having heard herself say the same thing a hundred times before and being unable to stop it, her heart broke all over again. 

‘Hey gorgeous, what can I get you?’

The smirk never left her lips, the playful lilt in her voice never wavered, there was nothing Ava could do but scream silently, and feel part of herself die painfully, as she addressed Sara exactly as she had addressed dozens of paying customers before her. And Ava knew, in one moment, she knew in her heart, that Sara didn’t recognise her. Or rather, Sara did recognise her, looked at Ava like she was exactly who (what) Sara had been looking for, starving for, and Ava could only watch as Sara grinned hungrily at the AVA before her, bit her lip, reached out to drag her fingers sensually over a pliant wrist, drawling, ‘What would you recommend, sweetheart? I’m suddenly desperately thirsty.’ And Ava could feel the last vestiges of her hope dying right there, as she stood, watching Sara gaze at her and believe she was a piece of meat, a robot, a fucking sex clone. 

Ava turned back towards the bar, walking until she was behind it, and caught Sara’s eye, from where she stood, watching Ava move, smirking and obviously self-satisfied, as she was caught staring at Ava’s ass. Ava felt everything as she looked at Sara from hooded eyes, biting her lip, and wanted more than ever to be sick, to snap someone’s neck, to drop dead right there on the floor of the club. Instead, she placed a full glass on the bar and pushed it in Sara’s direction, announcing, ‘One Sex on the Beach for the pretty lady.’ Sara pouted playfully, even as she reached for the drink, ‘Only one? Disappointing.’

It was a terrible, horrible, no good joke and, had she been able, Ava would have groaned and slapped Sara lightly on the arm, telling her to shut up or she’d never take her out in public again. As it was, AVA giggled shyly, ducking her head, saying lowly, ‘Well you’ll just have to come back for more. I’m sure I could go another round.’ Which, again, Ava would usually cringe and hide, in fact, she would never have said it in the first place, but it wasn’t Ava that was in control, and Sara was a paying customer who expected good service from the AVAs, and part of that good service involved horrible attempts at flirtation to stroke the patron’s ego, and persuade them that the AVAs wanted to be there, enjoyed what they were doing, loved the attention and desperation that radiated off the customers. Despite this, even patronising an AVA strip club as she was, Sara still seemed classier than the other customers – she was still slightly aloof, sure of herself; still breathtakingly beautiful, and Ava wanted to cry and scream and break things with a whole new ferocity as she watched the love of her life treat her like a cheap, cookie-cutter, manufactured sex toy – no trace of love or affection in her eyes, beyond the hungry leering typical of any one of the other customers in the club that night. 

Sara was sat at the bar, sipping at her cocktail and looking around the room, and as Ava watched the back of Sara’s head move to take it all in, she felt drops on her cheeks, and tasted the salt on her lips, and stood, frozen, as tears once again poured involuntarily down her face. Sara’s expression when she returned her gaze to Ava was something Ava would never forget – morphing from sultry stare, to a twisted, horrified grimace. It was clear to Ava that Sara’s horror at her tears no longer stemmed from a place of love, but from the shock of seeing a piece of equipment show emotion, and the discomfort that comes with being confronted with the reality that all consumers must eventually face: that service people do not actually worship at the feet of paying customers, that service people do not actually like their jobs, and to pretend otherwise, simply for the comfort it brings to ignore another person’s humanity, is deluded at best. Sara stared incredulously at the crying AVA before her, but the AVA did not move, did not reach to wipe away the tears, did not even seem to realise what was going on. Instead, she simply smirked again, sinking back into her role, even as her tear ducts continued to well up. 

Taking this in, Sara’s expression changed yet again, becoming angry, insulted. 

‘Hey. Hey, AVA. What the fuck? Snap out of it. What the fuck is happening?’ The rising aggression in her tone as the AVA continued to stand still, smirking and in tears, drew attention from the surrounding patrons, who each became equally discomforted by the sight. Slowly at first, and then more quickly, a crowd began to gather around the AVA and Sara, all yelling and pushing, clamouring to get a better look at the malfunctioning clone. Just as a few of the more aggressive members of the mob began advancing, the manager finally appeared, pushing through the crowd, and moving to stand between them and Ava. 

‘Oi! Alright, that’s enough! Fuck off, all of you, go on! You know the rules, no touching, no yelling, definitely no attacking the products. Get out of here, there’s still plenty of other working girls. Clearly this one’s wearing out, we’ll get her replaced, stat. Now move, go on.’ 

Bored already, and satisfied that there were other options, most of the crowd quickly turned away, disinterested, leaving the manager as he turned to face Sara, glaring, ‘What the hell did you do to her? You know you’ll have to pay damages if you’ve broken her.’

‘Hey! I didn’t do anything! She made me a drink and just started bawling. I’m not paying anything, buddy, this place is a shithole, don’t even have working girls. Jeez.’ Still glaring, Sara shot one last cruel look at Ava, turned on her heel, and stormed out of the club, without paying for her cocktail. 

‘Bitch. Alright, come on then, love. Downstairs.’ Ava felt him take her by the arm, and lead her out of the room, down the stairs at the back, and into the dressing room. Here, he stood her in front of her usual locker and prised the door open, revealing her replacement, standing in the dark with her eyes closed. 

‘Wakey, wakey, rise and shine! You’re up, love, come on, move.’ He stepped back as the AVA’s eyes opened and she stepped smoothly out, sparing a quick, disinterested glance at Ava as she was spun and pushed into the new vacancy.

‘Right, you stay here, rest. You better pull it together by next shift. Can’t afford to replace you so soon. They don’t make ‘em like they used to, that’s for sure.’ He seemed to be mumbling to himself, more than actually addressing her, and the door slammed shut even before he’d finished speaking. 

In the dark, Ava was left to stew, to agonise, to tear apart every second that she’d had her eyes on Sara and watched her treat Ava like she was nothing. There was nothing that could console Ava during those hours, as she stood, unable to do anything, still trapped, still helpless, and angrier than ever. She didn’t spend that time trying to regain control of her faculties, as she usually did. Instead, she worked on floating away, completely separating herself from her physical experiences, until reality was a distant dream, until nothing could affect her because she was nothing, she was formless, she was a dissipating fog. There was no escape, no possible hope of rescue, not even a chance at death. Ava gave up. Ava unmoored herself and was left to dispassionately allow all the parts that made up her consciousness drift away from each other, until there was barely anything left of her, and in her place, there was simply AVA.  
***

A week later, there had been no more problems with the AVAs. All twelve of them rotating smoothly in shifts, working and dancing and schmoozing exactly as they were meant to. In fact, everything had been going so smoothly, the manager had allowed himself more than a couple of drinks, languishing on a stool in a dark corner of the club, lazily sweeping his gaze around the room, on the look out for trouble, but too drunk to do anything even if he found it. He watched the bodies around him move, almost in slow motion. The room span in hypnotic circles and sound reached him as though underwater. 

It took him a while to notice that everyone in the room had dropped to the ground and he was being shaken violently, almost lifted into the air by the force of it. His neck snapped upright as he suddenly became painfully aware that he had briefly lost consciousness. Looking up, the first thing he saw was a pair of vaguely familiar blue eyes. He might have recognised her sooner but the absolute fury that marred her features was unlike anything he had ever seen. Swiftly, fear overtook him, and he began to struggle away from her grip, glancing wildly over her shoulder in search of help. What he saw instead was not comforting – a massive man stood in the centre of the room, holding a terrifying-looking gun, clearly threatening everyone in the vicinity to stay on the floor on pain of death. He was flanked on either side by two almost equally large accomplices: on his left, a steel man, and on his right, a fucking werewolf. Immediately, the manager wished he could lose consciousness again, not even remotely prepared to deal with this shit. 

Unfortunately for him, the woman who had shaken him awake, now had him by the throat, clearly infuriated at his lack of attention. In contrast to her companions, his assailant was absolutely tiny, and yet she appeared the most likely of them all to rip him apart with her bare hands, right then and there. 

‘Where the fuck is she, you sick bastard? What have you done with her, huh? You’re gonna wanna talk quickly or I won’t hesitate to break you like a fucking toothpick.’ Her snarl was terrifying, but the manager found himself unable to speak due to the grip she had on his throat, and his hands came up to scrabble against her grasp, even as he gulped like a dying fish. Disgusted, the woman dropped him to the floor and stood over him. ‘Talk. Now.’ Heaving, he lay on the floor, lungs burning. ‘Where’s who? What do you want?’

‘Ava. Where. Is. Ava?’ Now even more confused, he waved vaguely to the middle of the room, where both the AVAs and the customers lay face-down on the ground. God, he was definitely going to be shut down for this. 

The scary woman turned, frantic, immediately ignoring him. ‘Ava? Ava, baby, where are you?’ For a second, there was no movement, and then, almost synchronously, six identical women stood slowly from their positions on the floor. ‘Fuck. They’re not her, they can’t be her. Fuck. Fuck.’ Sucking in deep breaths, the woman looked at the AVAs standing before her, chest heaving so much she was almost panting. Her companions exchanged worried glances, before realising that, faced with such a dilemma, and given the chance to take in exactly what kind of place they were standing in, Sara wasn’t going to do anything. Taking charge, Mick raised his voice, ‘Right. Everyone that isn’t Ava, get out. Now!’ In the minute it took for the shell-shocked customers to scramble up from the floor and out of the building, Sara managed to compose herself enough to step on the manager as he tried to crawl away. 

‘Not you. You stay put.’

Finally, the room was empty except for Sara, Mick, Nate, Mona, the manager (still prostrated at Sara’s feet), and six AVAs. They all waited in silence. Again, Sara looked down at the manager, ‘Which one is she?’

‘Which what is who?’ Sara kicked him in the balls. The manager screamed, then groaned, curling in on himself. 

‘Ava. My Ava. Where is she?’ The Manager could only stare up at her. He seemed to be searching for the right answer, trying to work out what she wanted. Suddenly, he seemed to have an epiphany.

‘Hey! Wait! I know you. You were here last week. Jeez, is that what this is all about? Look I’m sorry okay? I don’t know what happened but, look, I’ll make it up to you. Hey, alright, how about this, a free ride? Yeah, is that what you want? You can pick any one you want, take her for a spin, completely free, off the books, no-one needs to know okay? Just please, don’t kill me. Please.’

The more he spoke, the more confused Sara became. 

‘What? What the fuck are you talking about? I’ve never been to this hellhole in my life. And what the fuck to do mean ‘take her for a spin’? What the actual fuck are you on? Just give me Ava, my Ava, and I won’t have to break every bone in your miserable body.’

‘Alright, alright. Look, lady, I remember you from last week okay? I’m sorry she malfunctioned like that, I am, but she’s fixed now. So fixed I wouldn’t even know which one she was.’

‘Last week? I told you, I’ve never been here before.’

‘Yes. You have. Seriously, for God’s sake, I know that’s what this is about. You know, you were here and she got you a drink and then started crying her eyes out? Look, I can take them to the lockers, they’re all assigned, you’ll know which one it was that way. And then you can take a room upstairs, fuck her all you like, and bring her back. No-one needs to die. Okay?’

As he spoke, the blood drained from Sara’s face. Her expression became one, not of fury, but of heartbreak and murder. Through gritted teeth, she managed to ask, ‘Which. Locker?’ ‘Six. Locker Six.’ And, with that, Sara raised her foot above his head, and brought it down, stamping right through his skull. It was not an elegant kill, but she felt he deserved it, as revolting in death and he was in life. 

The AVAs watched, a strange mix of apathy and horror passing through them. Sara could hardly bring herself to look at any of them, fearing her inability to tell them apart, to identify the real Ava from among them.

‘Where are the lockers?’ She asked the floor. The AVAs shuffled, before filing silently out of the room, clearly expecting Sara to follow them.

Sara and the three Legends trailed the clones to the dressing room. Inside, the AVAs each took their places at their respective lockers, waiting for the doors to open, but Sara didn’t need to wait, she knew which locker she needed. Quickly, she strode to the locker on the far right, a flaking number 6 painted on the front, and ripped open the door. Inside, an AVA stood, just opening her eyes, and preparing to step out. 

Sara could hardly breath, ‘Ava?’ The AVA stared at her blankly, and Sara’s heart began to crack. She looked behind her at the other AVA who appeared to also belong in locker six. ‘Ava?’ Again, the AVA showed no signs of recognition and Sara had never felt so broken. 

‘I- um…’ She swallowed thickly and turned slowly to the Legends, who stood, watching in pained silence. 

‘Nate- I…What do I do?’ Sara began to gasp harshly, barely able to breathe past the choking, cloying, agonising fear that welled up in her. She swayed in place, and Mick reached out to steady her, with a hand on her shoulder. 

‘Alright. Um…I think, um…’ Nate trailed off, at a loss. 

Finally, Mona spoke up, as softly as she could as Wolfie, ‘Okay, how about, I’ll take these guys, um…out there,’ she gestured as she spoke, indicating her intention to take all but the two ‘Locker Six’ AVAs into the corridor outside. She waited for Sara’s nod, before herding the other ten AVAs gently out of the room, leaving Sara to stare, desperately between the two remaining AVAs. 

They both watched passively as Sara became more and more worked up, clutching at herself for comfort and gasping through tears, ‘Ava. Ava, baby, please. Please, I don’t- I’m so, so sorry, baby. Please, Ava, I know you’re in there. You’ve gotta be in there. Please, baby, I love you, I love you so much. I just- Ava. Please.’ And as Sara’s begging became less and less intelligible, it took Nate, standing behind her, to nudge her, pointing at the AVA on the left.

Almost silently, he breathed out, catching her attention, ‘Hey, Sara. Sara, look,’ and Sara opened her eyes from where they had been scrunched closed, fighting hopelessly against the flood of tears, to see, to her astonishment, that the AVA on the left was crying too. 

Sara couldn’t help herself. She felt an uncontrollable hope flare up in her chest, and she lurched forward, hands coming up to rest at Ava’s jaw, thumbs brushing tears and running mascara from her cheeks, as she looked into wet eyes, praying to find some flicker of recognition. 

‘Ava. Ava, baby, it’s me. Please, please, you’ve gotta know who I am, please remember me, baby. I love you, Ava. I love you so much. I love you, I love, I love you.’ At a loss again, and on the verge of losing it for the second time in as many minutes, Sara jerked forward, bringing her lips to Ava’s and praying harder than she had ever prayed for anything that Ava would remember her. 

Sara could taste the salt of their mixing tears, but she pressed desperately into Ava, needing to be close to her, needing her to feel how much Sara loved her and missed her, and needed her back. For a long moment, the lips against Sara’s were still and unresponsive, and Sara felt her heart shattering. Finally, just as she was preparing to pull back, fully expecting Ava to have no idea who she was, the body in her hands jolted, gasping wetly against her mouth. 

The eyes that looked into Sara’s held so many emotions in that second, that they were hardly there long enough for Sara to identify before they changed; love, relief, heartbreak, anger, anguish – but Sara knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that this was her Ava, the real Ava. 

It was all too much at once for Ava, coming back to her body, suddenly regaining control, finding herself back in Sara’s arms. Her knees buckled under her and she let Sara lower them both to the floor, sobbing almost hysterically.

‘You- you- you were here, and you tried to…and, and…Sara- Sara. You tried to- you wanted…how could you do that, Sara, I-…oh my God, Sara…I couldn’t move, I couldn’t – ‘, unable to form anything fully comprehensible, Ava settled for continuing to gasp and sob in Sara’s arms. Sara, who clutched back at Ava just as desperately, who found herself crying almost as much, who had Ava’s face in her hands, ducking her head to look Ava in the eyes as she tried to reassure her, ‘Ava. Aves, that wasn’t me. I promise, baby. I’m so sorry, I’m so so sorry. It wasn’t me Aves, I would never hurt you, you know that right? Fuck, baby, I love you. I love you so much. You’re safe now, we can go home now. You’re safe. I’ve got you’.


End file.
